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Picture Credits:
Writhe and wither alone in the dark.
Search deep within to find the hole.
Fill it up with dirt and water,
Wait for it to expand, to grow.
And what have you gained,
But a wet and muddy hole?
So stitch it with needle and thread,
And feel the bloody seems come undone.
Try to cover it with paper,
And someone will cut it out.
Build it a shield made for war,
And you will die with all the others,
Alone, subdued, and unconscious to life.
Why not simply except it,
And let it scab over and heal?
Why do we always need a quick fix?
Why not mourn and learn to appreciate your loss?
Why not cry until your plum dry?
Why not use your grievance to inspire?
Why, why even bother?
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